Seven Deadly Sins
by saygnightx
Summary: Each Rent character fits right in with one of the seven deadly sins. This is my view on who's who. It's better than the summary! I worked hard guys. [MultiChap] Worth the read, I promise!
1. Envy: Mark Cohen

**Disclaimer: I do not in any way, shape, or form, own Rent and its characters. Jon Larson is my hero. **

**Warnings: Language.**

**So, welcome to another story written and completely made up by me. I go to a catholic school and I couldn't help but think about the seven deadly sins; which Rent character would go to each one? Well, you're about to find out. **

**By the by, this is not Mark/Roger, although it may seem like it sometimes. They're just really close. **

**Enjoy! (And don't forget to review!)**

--

Envy is complicated. Sometimes, envy is just a time when a woman passes another one the street, wishing she had that purse. Other times, envy is wanting so desperately to look as good as someone else, that person changes entirely. Their whole life revolves around feeding the envy; an attempt to appease that bubbling in the bottom of their stomach.

Then there are the people who feel like they are surrounded by people who are infinitely better than they are. These people don't necessarily obsess about their appearance, eat healthy all the time, or have natural movie star good looks. These people either go one of two directions. They accept what was given to them and live with it, or they pull deeper and deeper inside themselves until they have no appearance at all. They are void; unnoticed.

--

"Roger, we get it. You love how you look. But could you please not stare at yourself in every window we pass?"

"I'm sorry buddy; I can't help it that I was blessed. I'm just naturally gorgeous. Sometimes, it's hard not to stare."

"Whatever Roger; Just don't slow us down every time you do it."

He just laughed, clapping me on the shoulder. His stride slowed as we passed another store on the sidewalk. "Damn, my hair's getting all windblown." A small pout etched onto his face.

I rolled my eyes. "You're such a woman."

"I am not! I just don't like when it gets all…..big."

"Okay Roger, I just don't see how your hair is a big deal. I don't worry about mine like that."

"Yeah, but yours is short. And you cover it in gel. There's no way yours would move anyhow."

"I don't cover it in gel!"

"It's hard as a rock." He knocked two of his knuckles on the top of my head for effect. "See? It's like I knocked on the side of a boulder."

I blew air out of my nose, shaking my head. "Just because my hair isn't gorgeous and I'm not olive skinned, green eyed, or a rockstar…" My head dropped.

"Hey, hey stop." Roger had come back over to me, trying to ease my sudden sadness. "You're not ugly Mark. Any woman would be lucky to have you with her."

I chewed on the inside of my lip, considering this. It wasn't that I hated everything about my life. I loved my friends. I loved my camera and the good film I was able to get from the small amount of supplies I had. It wasn't that my life was bad in itself. It was just the small little fact that I really kind of hated myself.

I was weak. I was always assumed as the rock for everyone else. I was always thought of as the guy who would hold up the rest of the group once it began its slow deterioration to AIDS. But, I never really saw myself strongly in this role. My parents never built me up; my dad constantly made it obvious how pathetic he thought I was.

I was not really giving anything to the world either. The only film that I had completed so far was put on the news maybe twice. It didn't accomplish much; only to make people who watched television aware for an hour.

Most of all, in my life, I saw myself as one of the most unneeded and unattractive members of our group. I was pale as a washed-out ghost, my hair was limp and in no way luscious, my eyes were glazed over with geek glasses, and my body wasn't even worth mentioning. I just wasn't "naturally gorgeous" as Roger so bluntly saw himself.

And I was unbelievably envious of him.

"No Roger, you're right. Not everyone is as blessed as you are. I am a geeky camera nerd. I'm white as a person can be. I am in no way good with women." My face slowly crept over with heat, surely growing ever more red with every word that came out of my mouth. "I'm not a musician, I'm not a model, I'm not a super genius; I'm not special at all." My eyes flickered up to the worried ones of my best friend.

"Don't you get it, Roger?" I slid one of my sleeves up my arm, angry lines formed there from this morning. Jagged lines ran down my face from the tears spilling out. "I hate who I am. I hate how I look. I hate me." My voice had raised considerably, rough from the effort. My whole body shook from the emotional rush that had just passed through me.

Roger was silent for a minute or two. He took my arm gently in his large hands. I winced when he ran one of his fingers over the lines there. His lava warm hands gave me goosebumps from the temperature difference. He slid my sleeve back down my arm, his green eyes finally coming back to meet mine. A large breath rushed out of him slowly. "Mark, you are so stupid." A chuckle fell from his lips. "How could actually think that you are anything less then amazing?" He pulled me into a hug, gaining stares from the public around us. "You are my best friend. You are the only rock of our family. You are a beautiful person inside and out. You are my brother." He pulled away from our hug, the warmth in his eyes giving me new hope.

I sniffed, completely embarrassed from my outburst. "Thank you Roger." I sighed. "I guess I just envied the way they looked at you."

He turned his head to the side. "Who?"

"Everyone, Rog. When we walk down the street, you're the one that catches attention. I might get a look or two but, no way the way you do." I huffed, the wind chilling my lungs. "I will never get the attention that you do."

"You're a different person than me Mark." He shook his head, the smirk on his face telling me how ridiculous he thought I was. "Sometimes, I wish I was more like you."

My brows knit together in confusion.

"You get to be alone sometimes. You get to be alone if you want to. I hate having to fight to be alone. You are luckier than you think."

"What if I'm tired of being alone?"

"Then go out and do something about it, man. Love doesn't just pop out of no where. You have to go out and look for it. You have to go out and live your life. Love will come to you." His eyes glowed, his mind obviously on Mimi.

I nodded my head, finally getting it. I never lived my life like that. I was always too afraid of rejection. I was always so focused on how much envious I was of the world, that I missed being a part of it. "You're right, Roger." I smiled up at him. "Thanks."

A bright smile split his features. "I'm always right, bitch." He said, flicking my ear before moving on along the sidewalk; I was right behind him.

"Roger, that hurt. Why would you—" _BAM._

"Hey! That hurt, you ass. Why don't you watch where you're--" A new voice broke through the collision. Beautiful blue-green eyes flicked up to my blue ones. A gorgeous brunette woman was on the ground picking up her journal and the papers that had escaped. "Oh! I'm so sorry." A soft smile flew across her face. I blushed. "I wouldn't have yelled if I knew you were that cute."

I chuckled. "It's alright. I really should watch where I'm going." I happened to pick up one of her papers, a page of a manuscript for a book meeting my eyes.

"Thank you, cutie." Her fingers grazed mine and I thought I saw a blush crawl over her fair skin. Adjusting her papers, she extended out her hand. "I'm Gabrielle."

I took her slender, warm hand in mine. My heart pounded. "Mark. Mark Cohen."

Maybe Roger was right after all.

--

A/N: **I hope you loved it, guys. That was the deadly sin for Mark. I hope you loved it! There should be seven more chapters for each character. Can you guess who'll be each one? R&R :)**


	2. Sloth: Tom Collins

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything that has to do with RENT. Jonathan Larson owns all. **

**Warnings: I write whatever comes to my head. Be aware.**

--

Sloth in the Church is seen as putting off what God has planned for you. It is putting things off, or worse, not doing anything at all.

People who are guilty of sloth are apathetic, have lost all sense of motivation, and generally have no reason to get up off their butts and move forward in their lives. They are glued to the couch or the bed with glazed over eyes, just lying awake until another chance for sleep.

However, do remember, putting things off is also seen as sloth.

Yes, procrastinating counts.

--

"Thomas B. Collins! Get up off your lazy bum and do something in this house! It's a complete wreck from the party last night." Angel poked at the dark skin of her lover's bicep, almost to the point of shoving him off the couch.

Collins rolled over on his stomach, head pounding with the feeling of the room spinning. He dug his head in the corner of his arm, his answer to Angel muffled. "Baby, can't we just let it be for a little bit longer? My entire body hurts." He stuck out a weak hand in her general direction. "Come over here and lay back down."

Angel simply threw his arm from her, knocking the large man off the couch. She winced when he hit the floor. "I'm sorry I had to do that honey. But I really need your help! All you're doing is making an indent on our couch. I can get you some aspirin. Please?"

Collins squeezed his eyes open during the brief moment in which Angel's pout was etched on her face. He quickly shut his eyes again. "If I can't see the pout, it won't affect me!"

"Thomas! Please?"

"Nuh uh."

"Pretty please?"

"Nuh uh."

"Pretty please with cherries on top?"

"Eh, no."

"Pretty please…with me on top?"

Collins' eyebrows rose, his eyes snapping open. A large smile spread across his face. However, once the harsh sun hit his eyes, the anarchist turned right back on his stomach. "Sorry Angelcake. But until my body stops screaming at me from every crevice, I can't help you."

Angel's brow furrowed. Then a sparkle awoke in her eyes, a devilish grin tearing across her face. The young drag queen tip toed into the bathroom, only to return with a large bucket. She tipped it over her boyfriend's face, covering him in cold water. Collins shot up from his place on the floor, sputtering water all over the place. "Angel! What the hell?! That's freezing!"

Angel giggled at her drenched lover, moving forward to kiss his wet nose. "I'm sorry honey. But I really do need your help. You're being a lazy bum."

Collins wiped the water from his face, now fully awake. "Well, at least I'm awake now. But I'm so cold!"

Angel's eyes darkened and her lips turned into an evil smile. "Well, I know a way we could warm up, you know."

Collins stopped ringing out his damp shirt to look up at his Angel. When he caught her look, he immediately went innocent. "You know, it also might just help out my headache too…" The large man instantly snapped off his wet t-shirt, twirled it up and smacked Angel's rear.

"Ow! Mr. Collins…" Her bright smile gave away her fake anger. "I'll get you for that."

"Not if I get you first!"

The two lovers chased around the apartment, eventually slamming into the bedroom doorframe, hands roaming free. Collins moved his lips from his girl's neck, giving her a little bite and looking into her eyes. "Not so lazy now, am I?" And with one last wink, he hoisted Angel over his shoulder, squealing with surprise, and slammed the door behind them.

**I hope you loved it as much as I did!**

**Well, that was sloth everyone! Keep reading, review for me, and you'll see a new chapter faster than you think!**

 **saygnightx**


	3. Lust: Mimi Marquez

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything that has to do with RENT. Jonathan Larson owns all. **

**Warnings: I write whatever comes to my head. Be aware.**

Hey again guys! I'm back after a little while. Sorry, I've been so busy with my life on fast forward. But I'm here and ready to write.

Here's Mimi, most of your guesses, as lust.

--

Lust is a word that is seen, to some of the modern world, as filth. Lust is when a husband sees a young woman in a bar and, though he is married, takes her back to his place because he "just can't help himself". Lust is when a wife cheats on her husband because the new lawn boy arm candy seduces her in the nearby tool shed.

Lust, in the Catholic Church however, is defined as excessive thoughts or desires of a sexual nature. In Dante's epic poem of his description of hell, he said that it was defined as excessive love of others, which pulled one's strongest love from God. In their circle of hell, their punishment for their deadly sin was to be constantly in flames, representing the eternal burning of their lustful desires.

However, lust does exist. Lust is the hardest deadly sin to avoid because humans have natural bodily needs that are inbred from our ancestors. There are temptations around us every day in our modern world, pulling us toward this poisonous sin.

One of those temptations is Mimi Marquez, the feline of Avenue B.

--

Her body moved in one fluid smooth motion, tantalizing the men around her. Her tanned skin flickered in the spotlights, sweat glistening like diamonds. Her long hair flowed just above her hips, gentle waves framing her face as though she was a mystery.

The eyes behind that long flowing hair were blank. The young woman was numb to the money being thrown at her and the lustful glances that ran over every part of her body.

The men themselves weren't so bad. They usually loved her personality, tipping her well. Even when it was just her body that they were interested in, they still kept a hefty tip collection in her wallet. The good part of the Catscratch club was the no touching policy. The dancers were not to be touched, no matter the situation. The men could hand out money, but their hands only went that far. There was a special room in the back of the club for "VIPs", those who could pay extra for extra special attention from the dancers, but Mimi never stepped foot back there.

Mimi knew she was special. Mimi knew that she was one of the favorites of the club, the feline of Avenue B. She was the one most protected by the bouncers; the manager couldn't afford to lose his best dancer. She was talented, gorgeous, and charming. When she was working, the club was usually packed to the rafters. The men loved to watch her dance; move across the stage as she did best.

But what little girl dreams of growing up and stripping for money as a living?

Mimi wanted to be a dancer. She wanted to be a ballet dancer, eventually traveling to Russia to be in the Russian Ballet. She had the talent, but she didn't have the money. Mexico isn't necessarily known for its ballet studios. So, Mimi moved to New York, hoping she would be able to make it into a higher level studio. But, when money became an issue again, Mimi walked into the grimy doors of the Catscratch Club.

She started out making money at the club simply to make enough money to be a real dancer in a real ballet studio. But the money kept disappearing into the hands of dealer after dealer.

She never made it to the studio. She became a dancer, but not as she was in her dreams.

Roger especially didn't like the fact that Mimi was a dancer at the Catscratch Club. He loved her for who she was, thanked the heavens that he had her, and even helped her through her grueling addiction to heroin. But there was only so much that the young guitarist could take before jealousy took him over.

He knew what the men saw when they looked as his girlfriend. He knew what they were thinking because he could read it on their faces. Roger would come to the club sometimes to keep an eye on the men. He fully trusted Mimi, but he didn't trust the scum that came into her work to see her.

He would pull her aside sometimes on her break when she knew he was there. Their conversation was the same every time.

"Baby, you know you don't have to work here. We don't even have to pay rent anymore." he would blow out the smoke of his cigarette angrily, taking deep drags to soothe his nerves.

Mimi would put her hands over his, looking into his eyes. "I know that baby, but I like to be able to get food for us. I know it's a weird new concept, but human beings do have to eat. I'll pass out on stage if I don't eat, love."

"But I hate that you're here every night. I see the way those pigs look at you. They look at you as though they can have you."

"I'm all yours, forever. You know that."

"I know…but I wish you could feel how I feel when I'm here. It's so hard to see lust seeping out from every pair of eyes in the room, on my lover."

Mimi would sigh, gripping Roger's hands tighter. It was always the same. "Roger, baby, you know I love you. But this is good money. I'm the top dancer. I make the most money and get the most in tips. I swear I never touch any of those pigs. It's **good money**."

Roger would move his hands out from under hers roughly, pissed off. "Why is it suddenly all about money, Mimi? We don't need the money! Money is for business yuppies who revolve their world around it. Didn't Angel teach us to live off of something different?"

Mimi would then recoil at the mention of her deceased best friend. "I know Roger but…"

"No." Roger would stand, ready to leave.

But this time, the conversation takes a turn. Mimi pulls him back by the hand, not ready to give up and not ready to give in. Her chocolate brown eyes bury into his sharp green, standing up to hold them together. "Sit down Roger. We're not ending this conversation like this again. I'm so tired of it. I want to be able to come home to a happy boyfriend for once." As he sat down, she continued. "Do you know what it's like to have to work in this place and then have to come home to an angry boyfriend? I have the most disgusting job and I just want to come home to someone who accepts me, comforts me, and loves me."

Roger shakes his head. "You know I love you Mimi."

"I do know that, which is why I hate coming home to an angry Roger. It darkens my mood and doesn't make the fact that I'm working in a strip joint any better. I want to come home and be treated like a lady." Her fingers slide between his. "And you know I only want to be lusted after by one man for the rest of my life." Mimi pulls the engagement ring from beneath her outfit, locking her eyes with his again.

Roger lets out a long breath, smiling. "Okay. You got me. Happy?" Roger turned on his rock star smirk, charming Mimi into a giggle.

She reached across the table to kiss him, nodding her head when they disconnect. "Very much so. Now, my break's over baby. I'll be home soon. My shift ends in a few hours."

Roger nodded his head, watching her slide back to the stage, getting ready for her next routine. This time though, when she came out on stage, she looked right at him. Roger felt the rest of the room dissipate and Mimi was dancing just for him. His insides tingled and his body tensed. Her body slid and glistened just for him.

Lust.

--

**Well, that's it for lust! Hope you loved it. Read and review! The next chapter will be up as soon as I can manage. :)**


	4. Wrath: Roger Davis

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything that has to do with RENT. Jonathan Larson owns all. **

**Warnings: I write whatever comes to my head. Be aware.**

--

**Well, here we are to yet another deadly sin! Fun, isn't it?**

**I don't really have all that much more to say except that here's chapter four on Roger.**

--

Wrath, as it's usually seen, is uncontrollable and inordinate feelings of hatred and anger. These feelings that occur can become denial of the truth, of the law, and engaging in forms of vigilantism. One may generally wish to do evil and inflict harm onto others. Vengeance can lead to even more horrible crimes.

Wrath is the only sin, however without the normal sense of selfishness or self-interest. Dante described it as "love of justice perverted to revenge and spite". In its original form, the sin of wrath also became anger pointed internally rather than externally.

--

He moved lithely with the strum of his guitar, his soul breathing in the music of the night. His foot tapped to the bass drum and his fingers moved with expert precision across the frets. His lungs burned for a cigarette, breathing in the smoke all around him. His warm lips reached the microphone and his voice came alive.

The club goes silent and the green eyed rock star takes in all of the beauty of being able to capture an audience with his music. Even if they were just looking at his physique clouded by a hard rock image, he didn't care. All he needed was the attention to satiate the craving he felt in the pit of his stomach.

The same craving that set him off the stage and into the crowd after a young beautiful redhead who had been watching him the whole time.

--

Roger and April were happy together. Despite the fact that most of their happiness emanated from the heroin that was pushed into their veins at any opportune moment, Roger and April were in love. It could be called the phenomenon that is 'love at first sight'. Most people believe that attraction and lust are the only things that occur when two people meet for the first time. But Roger fell in love with April's smile and April fell in love with Roger's eyes. It was love at first sight for the two young people, laughing over a couple of cigarettes and a few rounds of beer.

When April died, something died in Roger. A fire in him blew out when he held her blood drained body in his bathtub. The spark that April fell in love with dissipated and Roger started getting angry. Roger snapped at everyone and even the slightest misfortune to befall him caused something deep inside the rocker to implode.

This was when Roger's wrath started. And there were moments when Roger's wrath scared his best friend. There were moments when Roger's anger almost sent his best friend to the hospital.

--

"God damn it!" Roger slammed his fist down on the countertop in the loft kitchen, causing his half full coffee cup to shake. "Why can't I fucking do anything right?" Roger was trying to fix the cabinet door that had fallen off its hinges the day before. But with his hands shaking from withdrawal, Roger couldn't keep the screwdriver steady long enough for him to attach the new hinges.

Mark came out of his room, disturbed by the sudden yelling from Roger. "Roger, what's wrong? What the hell is going on out here? Maureen is sick, she's trying to sleep." The young blonde ran his fingers through his hair, blowing out a breath of air when he pieced together the situation. "Roger, it's just a cabinet. I'll fix it when Maureen's feeling better." The filmmaker walked up to his friend, placing a hand on one of the other man's rigid shoulders. "You're in no condition to be doing any of this right now."

Roger turned on his friend, something in him ever so tensely snapping. His green eyes pierced into the blue ones of Mark. "Who are you to fucking tell me what I can and can't do? Who are you to tell me what I'm capable of in my so called condition?!" Roger's teeth clenched together, his jaw clicking with the pressure.

Mark took a step back, rolling his eyes. This wasn't the first time Roger had acted like this. It wasn't the first time that Roger had snapped at nothing. "Roger, just calm down would you please? I know you're pissed because you're going through withdrawal. But don't yell and scream when someone's trying to help you!"

Roger slowly put down the screwdriver on the counter, stepping towards the other man. His fists clenched together, shaking still. "Don't you dare preach to me Mark Cohen. I've seen more shit than you can ever come to realize!"

"Yes Roger, you've been through some rough shit. But that doesn't give you the right to assume that everyone else isn't going through anything either! You have no idea what I've been going through because you've been too selfish and focused on your own anger and pain to even notice!" Mark's face had become blood red, eyes glazing over in fury and frustration at his friend.

The rocker got close to the filmmaker's face, talking through his teeth. "You honestly think I have any time for your bullshit?! I'm withdrawing from heroin man! I found my girlfriend dead in my fucking bathtub! Her blood was caked on the walls! So I'm sorry if I didn't find enough time to watch over you to make sure _you_ were okay." Roger's breathing was heavy, his body bent slightly with the effort.

Mark turned away from Roger, his fists clenching his jeans in an attempt to relieve some of the rough tension in his muscles. "Well maybe you should have kept a better eye on her. Then she wouldn't have gotten you both sick." The blonde man's voice was low and harsh, the awful words laced with hurt feelings from deep within his heart.

"What did you just say to me?"

Mark turned back around slowly, no trace of remorse evident on his face. "You heard me. Maybe if you'd watched what April was getting you both into a little more closely, none of this would have happened!"

Roger broke in that instant. He charged at Mark, gripping his friend's shirt in his hands and slamming him into the nearest wall. Pulling the collar up close to Mark's neck, Roger's face exploded in red anger. "How dare you talk about April like that! You have no idea what she went through. You have no idea what happened between us. You weren't there so you can never fucking understand how we felt when we were doing heroin!" The musician yanked on his friend's collar, causing the other man's breath to hitch in his throat.

Mark pulled on Roger's hands, trying to loosen his grip. With a constricted voice, the blonde attempted to calm Roger down. "Please Roger, I didn't mean it. Let me go, you're going to fucking kill me!"

Roger hit the younger man against the wall again, dropping him to the ground. Mark slumped to the floor, gasping for air. "You know I hate myself after all that happened, Mark. Don't ever pretend that what I do is because I'm selfish or I want attention. The last thing I want is a pity party from you! I want to disappear for fuck's sake. So leave me the hell alone and stop preaching to me like you know what's going on in my head!" Roger stood above his friend, eyes sharp but his body calming into a slow shaky breathing pattern.

Mark moved slowly, his back searing with blind pain. The young filmmaker stood, eyes clenched closed, his breathing ragged and pained. When his eyes finally opened again, they were brimmed with tears. "Roger, I'm sorry. I just, you're so angry all the time. You snap at everyone. You even snap at the one person who held you and took care of you when you were withdrawing. Do you know how much it hurt when you'd come out of your fogs and have no idea that I had spent the entire night before holding you through your night screams?" Mark's cheeks grew paths where his tears fell over his fading red cheeks.

Roger's face fell, his anger disappearing as if it had never been there in the first place. His mind suddenly comprehended what he had just done to his best friend. This was the first time that the rocker had ever laid his hands on someone else. He was quick to help his stumbling friend who was attempting to reach the couch to sit down. "Oh Mark, God I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to…I mean I'm sorry about what I said I…God, I'm just so sorry…"

Mark sat down, shaking. When he began to speak again, his voice was cracking and weak. "It's okay Roger, really. I understand that what you're going through isn't easy. I'm sorry I was so harsh. I should have never said those things about April. I really had no idea what happened between you two. I'm just…"

"No Mark, no more saying you're sorry. This withdrawal is my burden to bear. I got myself into the drugs. I wasn't stupid; I knew what April was doing and what it was going to do to me. You shouldn't have to take care of me anymore. I can handle this. I should have from the beginning." Roger stood from the couch, taking in a deep breath. "I'm just, I'm so sorry Mark. You're my brother, my best friend, the only one who stood by me when I was in too deep."

Mark nodded his head, wincing slightly from the pain in his neck. "I know you are Rog. We'll move on with our lives. You don't have much to deal with anymore. We have to make the best of it."

Roger knelt in front of his best friend, placing a hand on his knee. "You're right," his voice shook with the thought of his life being cut short, "I love you, man. I need to control my anger problems. I've got to learn how to make the best of what little life I have left. Thanks."

Mark smirked at the other blonde, patted his hand before rising to head back to his sick girlfriend. "No problem Rog. Now go fix that cabinet. It looks like shit."

Roger laughed, heading back into the kitchen. As he passed the bathroom, flashing images of blood and water made its way across his vision, causing him to stop for a second, eyes tearing up. Roger pushed through the pain, shaking his head and heading back to finish the cabinet.

--

**Man! That was a long chapter!**

**Hope you loved it as much as I did. :)**

**R&R people! New chapter soon!**


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